


What's Left Of Us

by DontTouchMySeaweedBrain



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Gen, Post-Dollhouse, aria-centric, girls like girls that's all i'm saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontTouchMySeaweedBrain/pseuds/DontTouchMySeaweedBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on. Even if it doesn't feel like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Left Of Us

**Author's Note:**

> I mean it's not happy, I don't think it's that bad. Mentions of Alcoholism. Lack of sleep. Nightmares. There's a bit in here that COULD BE INTERPRETED as an allusion to rape.

            Sometimes she’ll catch herself avoiding sleep. Despite all the pills they’ve given her, she refuses to let herself sleep. The lights stay on, the coffee disappears like it’s the whiskey that Hanna drowns herself in nowadays.

            That’s the way it is now. Spencer throws herself into college prep, Emily into swimming, Hanna into booze and Caleb.

            Aria hasn’t found something to distract herself yet.

            She never turns off the lights now, the dark just makes it worse, childish as it sounds. Once, Mike snuck into her room, to keep an eye on her, she guesses. He turned off the lights and she woke up screaming with bleeding nail marks in her arm.

            Her family danced around her, around it. They tiptoed around the nightmares and treaded lightly with doctors and therapists.

            She often slept over with the other girls. And then often turned into always. Three or four or five of them clung together in what they couldn’t bring themselves to darkness.

            She wasn’t used to sleeping in her real bed anymore, but she was used to them.

            Their scattered habits were normal, comforting. Even the unfamiliar tics that came from three weeks and two years were common and calming. No one, not parents desperate to never let their children out of their sights again, not police warnings against the dangers of having them all together begrudged them the ability to heal together.

            No one wanted to worry about Sara, or how long she had been down there, but eventually Mona joined them. She wasn’t familiar with the way Emily moved in her sleep, or Ali’s blanket hogging, but someone else who understood made them all feel better.

            Parents resigned themselves to buying bigger beds and preparing for legions in the morning. Slowly, ever so slowly, things got easier. Even if the fear of the dark, of sleeping, of _remembering_ for just one minute was a constant.

            Before, she was always the first to fall asleep, the one who woke up with her bra in the freezer, or with whipped cream all over her face.

            In the aftermath, the six of them lay sprawled together, Mona and Hanna twisted so they half-covered Ali and Emily, while she and Spencer lay wrapped together in the middle. Everyone was asleep but her.

            She focused on the girls beside her, their breathing slowly evening out, despite the nightly hitches in Hanna’s chest, the small sobs from Mona or Ali, quiet whimpers from Emily, or sniffles from Spencer, they managed. And watching over them, she managed too.

            Slowly, she disentangled herself from the weight of hands and hair, snagging a blanket off the floor and dragging it to Emily’s window seat, staring at the sky she was sure she’d never see again.

            She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she hears sobbing and wonders who it is tonight.

            She tries to stop; Hanna’s a light sleeper, and if she wakes up, so will everyone else. But she _can’t stop crying._ Her hand covers her face, but it ends up in her face, half pulling and half soothing.

            Oh, God, the things that happened in that room, it was, they were… She doesn’t have words for the things that happened in there.

            She doesn’t know how it happens, but suddenly she’s warm and there are arms around her, cradling her like a child. Part of her wants to protest, but the part of her that win is the one that gives up and sobs.

            “The dark,” she says, but it feels like she’s screaming. “Oh my God.” There are voices all around her, but none of them are his, so it’s okay.

            She thinks it’s Spencer that lifts her so there’s a shoulder she can bury her face into, something she can clutch onto so the memories can’t carry her away.

            “What happened?” Ali whispers in the background. “What could he have done to…” She trails off. The whispers in the night don’t leave much to the imagination.

            “Its okay, Aria.” Definitely Spencer’s voice. “He can’t hurt us anymore. He can’t hurt you again.” Warm fingers go through her hair, and it’s almost enough.

            “It doesn’t matter, Spence.” She looks up from her friend’s shoulder, straight into brown eyes that are just as broken and desperate as hers. “He did hurt us. That’s enough.”

            She goes back down, and eventually, through all the whispered confessions and voice-cracking sobs, she falls asleep.

            In the morning, she puts on enough concealer to hide the dark circles, and, despite the looks she gets all morning, life goes on.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a line if you liked it!  
> Love, Abby.


End file.
